


Armistice

by blarfkey



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Missing Scene, Post TLJ, Soft Ben Solo, Soft Rey (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/pseuds/blarfkey
Summary: Ever since Crait, that last look Rey sees on Kylo’s—on Ben’s face—haunts her. As she stared him down from the ramp of the Millennium Falcon, she expected to see anger reflected back at her. Or hatred, jealousy, murderous intent. Especially after hearing how vicious and unhinged his fight was with Luke, how he ordered everyone in the base killed on sight.Instead she just sees . . .Grief.But what haunts her the most is how easily it settles around him, like a second cloak. It’s not a fresh and angry wound, it’s a scar that aches in the middle of the night, that signals the weather, that looks back at you in every mirror.It’s an old friend.She knows grief like that.Three times the force bond opened while one of them is sleeping
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	Armistice

**Author's Note:**

> I know everyone and their mother has done the Force Bond While They Sleep but I had to try it for myself! This takes place between TLJ and TROS.

Ever since Crait, that last look Rey sees on Kylo’s—on  _ Ben’s _ face—haunts her. As she stared him down from the ramp of the  _ Millennium Falcon _ , she expected to see anger reflected back at her. Or hatred, jealousy, murderous intent. Especially after hearing how vicious and unhinged his fight was with Luke, how he ordered everyone in the base killed on sight.

Instead she just sees . . .

Grief.

But what haunts her the most is how easily it settles around him, like a second cloak. It’s not a fresh and angry wound, it’s a  _ scar  _ that aches in the middle of the night, that signals the weather, that looks back at you in every mirror.

It’s an old friend.

She knows grief like that.

In the desert, there was always wind whistling through the gaps in her makeshift home. On the  _ Falcon,  _ the ship sang to her in various groans and beeps and whistles. Now, settled on Ajan Kloss, they have to sleep with ear plugs to block out the deafening noise of the jungle.

But nothing is louder than the silence that triggers the Force Bond. It’s her only warning, that sudden dampening, as if someone opened the airlock on a ship. The _lack of noise_ is worse than the noise.

Rey braces herself. So fast—so unpredictably—does he flicker between Kylo and Ben—she never knows what to prepare for. At least on A hch- to, she had her own anger, her own grief, to guide her. But now boundary lines between friend and enemy have muddled, colors running together to create something she has no idea how to quantify.

He could scream at her or beg for her and she doesn’t know which one is worse. Or how she would react to either.

Instead, only the silence greets her.

Rey turns around and finds him on her bed, laid out on his back, one arm bent against his chest, the other nestled against his side.

_ He looks dead _ .

Fear—sharp and surprising—rises in her throat and she takes careful, silent steps towards him. Close enough to see his chest fall ever so slightly. Her own chest rises and falls with her relief, and then she chastises herself for being ridiculous. Of course he’s not dead. She would know—  _ instantly _ —

He snorts softly in his sleep. Rey freezes, both dreading and hoping for the moment he wakes up. His head drops to its side and does not stir again.

She hears nothing but the sound of his breathing, deep and even. The first time he took off his mask struck her speechless. The monster she had feared looked so  _ young _ . So impossibly human.

And that’s the way he looks now, in the dim light of her room. He sleeps with the depth of the exhausted and it has eased the furrow in his brow, the drag of his lips, hidden the ferocity of his eyes. He looks like a vision of another person, another Ben, someone who didn’t turn, someone whose hand she could take.

It’s that thought that carries her to the edge of the bed. She hesitates a moment before slowly lowering herself to perch on the edge.

Still he does not wake.

Her hand reaches out and nudges a lock of his hair from his forehead. He has a mole, buried in the hairline by his temple. The urge to kiss it rises up in her, fueled by the knowledge that she could probably get away with it in his current state. Rey swallows, brings her hand down to his chest, and clasps his hand—the one she could not take -- in her own. Her palm rests whisper-light against the back of his hand, her fingers barely skimming the sides of his own.

She sits like this for a long moment, watching him breathe, tracing the lines of his profile. Trying to remind herself of who he could be, if she could just reach him. Any moment now, the connection will break and this moment will become just a memory, but right now, it’s _real_ and it’s hers. It’s one moment of peace between them after so much fighting, so much pain and bitterness and _betrayal_.

The press of his thumb jolts her from her thoughts. She stares as it brushes, almost reverently, across her knuckles. Her heart leaps in her throat, forcing her to take long, deep breaths. She drags her gaze to his face precisely  _ because  _ of how afraid she is to do it.

His eyes are heavy-lidded from sleep and look at her with such yearning, it  hits her like a sucker punch . She hardly dares to breathe as he lifts her hand slowly, gently, to his lips.

His mouth is hot like a brand.

And then he’s gone.  
  


When he saw Rey at his bedside, he thought he had _dreamed_ her. He had been awake for days, the sting of their loss on Crait sending the rest of the First Order scrambling. There was no way she could be real. After all they put each other through, he expects nothing more than her rage. 

Such raw power, such feral anger—she reminds him so much of himself. She walks the knife’s edge; if he thought he could just reach her, he could tip her over into the abyss with himself.

But that was Snoke’s desire. He doesn’t want her to turn, to lose that brightness within her, he just wanted— _ wants _ — her near. He  _ wants  _ to not be alone. He wants someone who understands him, who looks at him full of hope, and kindness—like she did in the elevator.

And for a moment, his weak, _stupid_ self thought he could have it.

So when he felt her fingers ever so carefully latch onto his, he  _ knew  _ it was a trick of the mind—a fresh way to torture himself. He kissed her hand the way he would have done if she had taken it—and then he woke up.

Now he stares down at her prone form, her knees tucked into her chest, breathing deep and even, and realizes it was not a dream at all.

Rey of Jakku sleeps the rest of the exhausted. She does not stir at his sudden presence. His lightsaber hangs from his belt. He could kill her before she could take her next breath.

Even lost in the depths of his anger, he never had the will to act on such a thought. And he doesn’t think he ever shall, even if her own blade sits at his throat.

In sleep, her hair drapes in disarray. It  spills over her shoulder, dangerously close to catching in the small, open-mouthed snores  that tum ble from her lips.

He remembers—suddenly—vividly—her fingers brushing back a lock of his hair from his brow. In his dream state, it had felt like his mother.

In that moment, she could have done herself the favor of killing him. 

( If she had turned like he thought he wanted, she would have _ . _ )

Slowly, on the verge of chastising himself, he kneels at the side of her bed and reaches out.

Instantly, he recoils at the stark contrast of his dark leather gloves against the paleness of her cheek. It reminds him too much of the interrogation chamber, of how deeply he tried to frighten her—  precisely  because she unsettled him so much.

Of  h ow terribly that backfired on him.

Finger by finger, he tugs off his glove before reaching  for her again. The wavy strands of her hair feel glossy against his finger tips. He keeps his touch feather-light as he tucks her hair behind her ear, hardly daring to believe his own audacity. A lock of her hair slips back like water down her cheek. His thumb brushes against the shell of her ear as he brushes it back.

She mumbles something too garbled and faint to understand, her hand drifting to wrap softly around his. He freezes when her eyes start to flutter open, struggling to drag herself from sleep. He needs to step away—he needs distance—what is she going to think when she wakes to him touching her—

Frozen in place, he watches helplessly as the fog of sleep clears from her gaze. He sees the exact moment clarity appears, when reality crystallizes behind those eyes.

His breath lies trapped in his lungs, bracing for her reaction.

She tenses beneath him, muscles coiled and ready—a wariness  that tries hard not to tumble into fear flashing in her eyes.

It  _ shames  _ him. When he saw her at his bedside, even as a dream, her presence never struck him as anything but welcome. 

He hovers over hers like a nightmare.

He pulls his hand back, but she only grips it tighter, her eyes searching his with  an intensity that makes him feel horrifically exposed.

“ Hello, Ben,” she murmurs, voice soft with sleep.

He swallows against the lump in his throat. The name doesn’t hurt like it used to.

“ I thought it was a dream,” he whispers to her. “But it was you, wasn’t it?”

Maybe that’s why he’s here, hand clutched in hers, to confirm for himsel f the moment that has haunted him.

“ Yes.” Her gaze dips away from his with faint embarrassment. “I’m . . . sorry.”

_ Sorry  _ . . . to offer him mercy, kindness,  _ comfort  _ . . . when he deserves nothing but her all-consuming  _ rage _ .

He shakes his head. “ As if I’m not doing the same .”

His hand is still buried in her hairline, thumb still resting against her ear.

It’s not so much a smile as the possibility of one that softens her mouth. Memories from the elevator flash across his mind. It’s as hard to look away from her lips then as it is now.

If she hadn’t disappeared, he doesn’t know what he would have done.

  
  
  
The first thing Leia taught her in her training was how to sense and block others with the  Fo rce. Knowing how Rey’s interrogation went with Kylo Ren, keeping him from discovering the base becomes a matter of the greatest priority. Especially since there are so few of them left.

Rey expected the bond to die along with Snoke, not to become  _ stronger _ . When they touched hands on Ach-to, it felt nothing as solid as the lips on her fingers, that first night in her room. And the touch of his hand in her hair, beneath her fingers—it took a long moment of panic before she could convince herself that he hadn’t physically broken into the base.

When they come together, it feels  _ too real _ . What would happen if they started seeing each other’s surroundings?  _ What if he hears Leia in the background? _

The risk is too great. So Rey spends weeks building up her walls until she can’t feel him anymore. Each time it feels like a betrayal, an abandonment.

Each time does not get easier.  
  
  
  


That agility course will be the death of her. She knows it. It’s impossible. If Luke finished it, then he’s a goddamn liar.

Oh, but she came  _ so close  _ today.

She collapses on her pallet in the Falcon, utterly drained. In fact, as the pull of sleep grows heavier, she nearly misses the sudden density of silence, a pleasant weight beside her, another warm breath near her ear.

Rey’s hand flops to the side and it hits something—someone—solid.

She turns sluggishly to face him. He lies next to her, on his side, dark circles haunting his eyes.

It has been  _ months  _ and  _ months  _ since she has  _ seen  _ him or  _ felt  _ him. What does it say about her that she missed these stole n  moments of peace?

His eyes track hers with a dark intensity that was not present in their previous interactions. A thread of unease runs through her. Rey swallows and burrows her head into her pillow.

“ I’m too tired for a fight,” she murmurs to him.

“ I don’t want one.”

But his eyes say differently. They b ear down on her, as fathomless as space, only made sharper by the dark circles that lie underneath.

Tentatively, Rey reaches out and brushes her hand against his cheek. She has much more experience in provocation than comfort, especially with him, but she doesn’t like the hard edge of that look in his eyes. Something has changed between then and now, despite them not having a formal confrontation since Crait.

_Are you alright?_ she wants to ask. _What happened? What did I do?_

Ridiculous questions, each one.  _ As if he would answer _ . As if she doesn’t already know the answer.

Her thumb swipes delicately across his cheekbone as her fingers trace the stark line of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed. He feels so warm, solid, and alive underneath her touch. It is almost impossible to believe that he isn’t in this very room with her.

The dip of his scar brushes against her thumb and she flinches, jerking her hand away. His eyes snap open, his gaze sharpening with—not condemnation, exactly . . .

_ Acknowledgment _ .

“ You should admire your handiwork,” he murmurs, pressing her hand with his against the scar.

Rey swallows. Presses her palm down the ridge of his scar as if she could erase it with her touch.  In _that_ moment, she had been feral with rage. If the earth had not shattered in half, she might have very well killed him. In fact, as she boarded the Falcon while his reinforcements were out of sight, she believed she had.

The first time she saw it, his scar—blackened with stitches—she felt a surge of pride. The great and fearsome  _ Kylo Ren _ , taken down by a  _ scavenger  _ with a borrowed lightsaber she had never used before

Now the sight of it makes her sick.

“ I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“ Don’t,” he bites back.

_ Don’t start _ , his eyes say to her.  _ Don’t say things you can’t take back. _

So far, there has been an unspoken rule—do not mention the past. They are skirting dangerously close to breaking it.

“ Okay,” she says, tracing the edge of his hairline, whispering over the mole she discovered. “Okay.”

For a long moment, they do nothing but gaze at each other. Rey  catalogs the freckles and beauty marks dotting along on his cheeks and forehead, the slope of his nose; the faint shadow of stubble above his lips. An unwelcome truth struck her,  as it did  that moment on their way to  see Snoke :  _ how could someone mired in so much darkness be so beautiful? _

_ Because he had so much light just waiting to be uncovered _ — or so she thought. As if Rey, a nobody, could have ever been enough to reach him in such inky darkness.

What thoughts must he have for her, she has no idea, as his gaze skates from her brow, to her nose, to her lips. Whatever they may be, his gaze sharpens with sudden resolve. His hand bridges the distance to cups her cheek, her jaw, the broad span of his palm a warm, comfortable weight.

She leans into hit.

“ I’m coming for you, Rey,” he says. “I won’t stop until I find you.”

She swallows.

Something surges in her core,  crackling underneath her skin.

It’s not fear.

_ Anticipation _ .

“ And what exactly is going to happen to me when you do?” she finds herself whispering back.

“ You’ll find out when I get to you.”

She swallows, her eyes dipping down to his mouth. “That’s if you catch me first.”

He mirrors her gaze, eyes locking on her lips, much like they did in the elevator.

“ I guess we shall see,”  he says.

He leans into her, thumb dragging across the corner of her mouth—

For a wild moment, she thinks he is going to kiss her.

For a wild moment, she is going to let him.

  
And then he’s gone.


End file.
